


Nothing to Write Home About

by ersatzbeta



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Mild Language, Sanzo-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-17
Updated: 2010-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ersatzbeta/pseuds/ersatzbeta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few thoughts on Sanzo and the newspaper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing to Write Home About

Sanzo had been reading the same newspaper for three years. Three years had brought him total knowledge of its contents. Just as his knowledge of the sutras, chants, and prayers was rote (however genuinely he might or might not have felt about them) so too was his newspaper reading. He knew every character on each page, from the headlines to the half-column bit on cooking with spring vegetables, to the rather dubiously-termed "personals" section. As a vehicle for the dissemination of information, it was nothing to write home about.

Carrying a newspaper from Shangri-La to India wasn't an especially practical endeavor, but seeking out a new one in each town they came to was even less so. At first, it might have been feasible, yes, when the towns were big and not as impacted by the unfortunate uprisings. But as time passed, they came to fewer large towns and more and more scattered villages with a hundred people or less. Even if they hadn't been in the middle of fuck-all-deserts and cut off from all but the most determined of couriers--and these days, no ordinary person would be that determined, not with hordes of youkai roaming the countryside and slaughtering people at will-- they were too small to support any sort of publishing outfits themselves.

And then, there was the small matter of the language barrier. Just because Sanzo could parse the dialects and increasingly alien tongues as they approached India didn't mean that he wanted to read them. Frankly, reading Sanskrit gave him a headache every time. The horizontal, left-to-right way of writing was a bunch of crap, as far as he was concerned. At least with his native language, a man could tell where a thought began and ended without it all running together on the page. He'd rarely had to read Sanskrit since Komyou's death, but his master had made sure he could, both as a matter of practicality and of respect for the founders of Buddhism. It didn't matter that the traditions of the priesthood were almost entirely oral, Komyou had insisted. Knowing the written language was valuable in its own way. He'd understand, someday. And he did now, sort of; if nothing else, knowing the written language helped him gauge how close they were getting to their goals. Each new village they came across had signs, and as the weeks and months wore on, the symbols on those signs were edging closer and closer to the ones he'd mastered as a boy.

One day, Sanzo had been reading the paper in the jeep as they drove, when a sudden cloudburst had soaked them all, simultaneously. The newspaper hadn't stood a chance. Hakkai had pulled over under the nearest shelter and, when the rain didn't let up, he started a fire. Gojyo set up the tents, and Goku searched for wood. Sanzo stared dumbly at the sodden mass dripping between his hands. He was still staring at it when dusk fell and, although Sanzo wasn't sure exactly when after that it happened, something did. Someone, probably Hakkai, took the paper from him and carefully separated the pages and hung them on lines near the fire to dry.

When Sanzo woke in the morning, he opened his eyes to see Goku carefully folding the paper up again. Wordlessly, he handed it to Sanzo, and Sanzo held it tight. He lit a cigarette and contemplated for a while. At last, he spoke.

"It's wrinkled," said Sanzo.

He scowled at the three of them. Goku looked crestfallen. Gojyo snorted.

"You're welcome, your holy-pain-in-the-ass-ness," said Gojyo.

He nudge Goku in the ribs, and Sanzo narrowed his eyes.

"Told you so, now pay up," said Gojyo.

"Aww man," said Goku.

Goku pulled out a wrinkled tenner and handed it over to Gojyo. Sanzo hadn't a clue where he'd gotten the money.

"I did try to warn you," said Hakkai. "Sanzo has never been one to show his gratitude."

It galled him that Hakkai--that all of them, really--had read him so well. He was grateful, damn it all. The newspaper was, dare he say it, important to him. It stood as a reminder to him that he did have somewhere to be getting back to once this whole Gyumaoh mess got cleaned up. Sanzo didn't exactly miss the temple in Chang-An and couldn't really call it home, even in his own mind, but it was still waiting for him.

For a person who was supposed to let all worldly things go, he was having a hard time letting go of the newspaper. He'd had ample opportunity and had even gotten so far as to hold it threateningly over a trash bin, but he couldn't let it drop. He couldn't open his hand and let those worthless pieces of paper go.

Three years of near daily readings had smudged the ink fairly badly, and Sanzo's glasses could only add so much clarity. Though he'd purchased and periodically used a can of hairspray to fix the ink--and hadn't the look the cashier had given him been awful, and the eventual reception by Gojyo even worse than that--he always came away from reading the paper with ink on his fingers. The words were coming off the pages and there wasn't anything he could do to make them stay.

**Author's Note:**

> This story's been sitting on my hard-drive for months now, and I'm sorry to say nothing more came of it... I'm frustrated that this piece feels like I've pushed a couple of ideas together and they haven't quite meshed enough to make a real story. (Hence, I've couched it in terms of a character study.) I don't want to work/fiddle/tweak it any more, for fear I'll cut out whatever good bits it has. (And I'm sure I've made mistakes along the way..like in the verb tenses. I just couldn't settle on one. Argh. Totally my bad.) I know when it's time to lay a piece to rest. That time has come. I officially wash my hands of it.
> 
> That being said, I fudged a lot of details. I fully admit to, oh horrors, making stuff up. I have no idea how accurate I've been with regard to canon. I just kind of what-if-ed the premise and ran from there. (For all I know, it says somewhere that Sanzo gets a newspaper every week via some sort of holy air-mail delivery; hyperbole, but I trust I make my point.) Nonetheless, I hope this little piece gave you pause to think.


End file.
